Poe

He mourned the loss of his love, on whose 
support his soul’s survival had come to desperately
rely:  Lenore!~ the only one less judging of his irrational, 
often self-destructive, passionate nature, committed
to loyally embrace and nurture his celebratory poetic genius.  Oh!~
his tormented heart yearned, hopelessly sought 
the peace, the rest, the comfort, an out of control
creative furnace kept from him. Day and night, a throng of demons 
haunted his pen -- and her love, his only elixir of
longevity.  When she perished, so did he by proxy. Lenore,
who had saved his immortal psyche from the abyss was gone...and so
sealed then was his fate.  Let it be stated, evil he was not!
Insane? No writer of worth approaches such discipline normally; does not sojourn
without depending on the stars of unseen spirits and other intangible guides.  The coffin he entered~ dove deeply into dank crypts others shrank from while alive; confronted those phantoms of morbid despair and oblivion; sank with them in suffocating, evermore dreadful gloom, to suffer with them on their own abysmal turfs – remiss if not to speculate: like hideous creatures many of us will face upon death -- far less armed...for, unlike he~ not knowing.

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Valsa George

Date: 8/14/2025 9:23:00 PM

I used to love Edgar allen's poems as an undergraduate student. Because of his rhyming and use of alliteration, he is known as a jingling poet. His life was tumultuous especially after the death of his wife. He became a great alcoholic. I don't know if Lenore is his wife's real name. Dear Joe, you have written a lovely tribute to the poet, celebrating his love for Lenore.

Joe Dimino
Date: 8/14/2025 9:41:00 PM

Witman disrespected him, called him simply a Jingle Maker. Lenore was not his wife's name -- but the sense of loss, isolation, a perpetual disconnect and sadness was constant theme throughout his poetry. Annabel Lee another such poetic personification of grief. As he said in Dream Within A dream: From childhood's hour, I have not seen as others saw; from the same source I have not taken my sorrow...and all I loved I loved alone (as I recall, close enough) -- Thinking back, he was probably my first fond introduction to poetry~ The Raven. Thank you, Valsa.

Mystic Rose Rose

Date: 8/14/2025 10:14:00 AM

I agree who knows how we would react in face of death of a loved one, we don't know until we are in it, then its either sink or swim. Thank you for this poem Joe, you know what they say, the best poems comes from those suffering souls who bleed their pen, I believe that !

Joe Dimino
Date: 8/14/2025 10:43:00 AM

Thank you, Vie; to be a complete poet, one must have to have lived a good and bad life. A happy and sad life.